Months passed. One autumn dawn, a letter arrived with handwriting that made Sis.2’s chest hitch: it was from her sister, Mira, who’d left years ago to chase a life that did not need maps. The note said only, “I’m outside. I brought my cat.” Sis.2 locked the door and waited. When Mira arrived, older and softer around the eyes, she carried a skinny, soot-splattered kitten that blinked like it knew two languages.
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